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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27531130">all things grow, all things grow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangerinthealps/pseuds/thestrangerinthealps'>thestrangerinthealps</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bipolar Disorder, Body Image, Romance, Season 10 sort of age, Therapy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 06:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27531130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangerinthealps/pseuds/thestrangerinthealps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, it’s not so surprising that Ian’s ended up spending his Saturday evenings in group therapy. What is surprising is when Mickey Milkovich shows up as well, especially after they’ve managed to go years without running into each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Familiar Faces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ian!” Debbie’s running down the , Franny bouncing on her hip. She stops in front of him, bending over heavily to catch her . Ian takes a step back from the edge of the bridge to grab his niece and twirl her in a circle. Giggling, she squirms as Ian tickles her, digging into her ribs before setting her down.</p><p>“What- what you doing here?” Debbie feigns nonchalance, as if she didn’t just sprint the whole way down the bridge to get to him. He plasters on a .</p><p>“Just looking at the city, Debs. Don’t you think it’s amazing?” It’s the early evening, the sun just setting and the city lights are reflected in the .  is alive, the streets busy and bustling. Ian came here after his shift, just to watch. He cherishes the way the city can make him feel so insignificant, yet a part of something so complexly beautiful. Debbie looks around. Tilting her head skeptically, she shrugs. She was never much of a romantic.</p><p>“Well. It’s getting late, you wanna go home? We can walk together?” Her voice is painfully sweet, like she’s talking to a child and Ian scratches his neck.</p><p>“I’m fine. You don’t need to take me home, I’m not about to jump off a bridge, Debs. I can look after myself.”</p><p>It’s been years since the time he almost hit her with a  bat, years since he started on medication, and years since he went back to being her responsible older brother. He doesn’t need his baby sister talking to him like he can’t take care of himself. </p><p>Debbie frowns. “Sorry, Ian, but I’m not just gonna stop worrying about you. You looked seriously… off,  just now. Anyway! Me and Franny are heading home anyway, aren’t we, baby?” She hoists Franny back up and turns to Ian. “So if Uncle Ian stops being stubborn, maybe he’ll walk home with us because we love him, and not because we have some sort of evil ulterior motive!” Debbie growls and fake scowls at Franny.</p><p>Sighing, Ian tries to  at his sister. It’s good that his family cares about him, and he knows that. Lip always checks Ian takes his meds; Debbie calls in sick for him at work when he needs it; Carl keeps a refreshingly blase attitude; and Liam is always ready to distract him from his racing mind with blunt humour.  It’s still hard and he still has to remind himself sometimes. His siblings can be overbearing, but at least they give a shit. Plenty of people wouldn’t.  Planting a kiss on Franny’s head, he puts a hand on his sister’s shoulder and they start the short walk home.</p><p> </p><p>At , Ian sits between Liam and Franny, cutting up their food. Franny grins at him, displaying her two lost  and proceeds to somehow mess up Ian’s handiwork and get food all over the table. Liam groans at Ian cutting up his food for him, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. </p><p>“Can you do mine?” Carl asks earnestly. Ian punches him in the shoulder, but he’s not entirely sure Carl’s kidding. It’s hard to tell, usually.</p><p>“Yo,” says Lip entering through the back. “Family ?”</p><p>“Where’s Tami?” asks Debbie.</p><p>“Took Freddie out with the moms she met at daycare.” Lip replies, grabbing a seat and helping himself to Debbie’s casserole. </p><p>Ian smiles at the mess of a Gallagher family . Debbie’s talking loudly over Lip about some girl she thinks could be gay; Liam and Carl are arm wrestling on the corner of the table; Franny’s smearing food down her unicorn t-; and Lip’s trying to talk about some asshole at work. It reminds Ian of the chaos of his childhood, the constant rush of voices and the feeling of his family versus the world. They all still live together- apart from Lip and Fiona- but they don’t often get together for  like this. </p><p>“Hey, Ian?” Lip asks tentatively. Ian frowns. That’s Lip’s cautious voice, something he only brings out when Ian’s seriously pissed off. </p><p>“Yeah?” Ian asks, taking a swig of the beer he allowed himself since it was sort of a special occasion.</p><p>“I was talking to Brad… and he told me about this therapy group he’s been going to.”</p><p>Ian nods slowly, “Ok?”</p><p>Ian had been seeing a therapist for the past few years, but she’d recently moved away to Arizona with her husband. He loved her, but he shut her down quickly when she tried to refer him to a new therapist. It had taken him long enough to find someone he was comfortable with, and he didn’t want to start the whole process all over again. Besides, he’s fine now. He doesn’t need therapy anymore.</p><p>“I think it might be really good for you, Ian. I know, I know!” Lip defends himself, holding up his hands. “You don’t want to go to therapy, but hear me out. It's helped you so far, right?”</p><p>Ian nods cautiously. </p><p>“Right, well, it would make sense not to just give up. I know you don’t want to see another therapist, and that’s cool, but this group is really chilled, Brad said. It might be really good for you, just to talk about how you feel with a bunch of other guys. It’d be totally casual, I won’t make you- I mean I hope you go, ‘cause you should, and Brad said-”</p><p>“Lip,” Ian cuts off his brother’s rambling. “I don’t want to go to group therapy. I’m doing really great. I don’t need it.”</p><p>Lip smiles slightly. “Yeah, Ian. I’m doing great too. I’m sober, I got Tami and Fred, I finally got my own place. Doesn't mean I don’t need AA.”</p><p>Pulling it out of his back pocket, Lip sticks a post-it next to Ian’s plate. He points out the time and the place of the next meeting. “Brad gave me this to give you. So, will you go? I can text Brad and get him to go in with you if you want?”</p><p>Scoffing lightly in the back of his throat, Ian says, “You realise I barely know Brad, right? I don’t need him to hold my hand through therapy.”</p><p>“Alright, asshole, just trying to be nice. Glad we made him the godfather.” Lip mutters.</p><p>“Sorry, what?” Ian asks, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“Nothing! Anyway, will you go once? Please, Ian, I… I worry about you.” Lip confesses, lowering his gaze.</p><p>“I’m taking my meds,” Ian starts defensively. “There isn’t anything to worry about. But fine, I’ll go once if it’s so fucking important to you.”</p><p>Ian claps Lip on the back, a gesture he hopes conveys that he’s not really upset at him, but he also really doesn’t want to continue this conversation. Smiling, Lip leaves Ian alone and starts to harass Debbie about a  of Tami’s she borrowed and never gave back. Ian’s thankful for the distraction and leans back in his chair, observing his family without getting involved. He’s always preferred sitting on the edge, watching from the periphery without being the centre of attention. This way he feels involved without getting overwhelmed.</p><p>After he’s helped clean up , he heads to his bedroom and  puts the post-it on top of his dresser. The next meeting is tomorrow evening at 8 and Ian’s not working, so he doesn’t really have a valid excuse not to go. And anyway, it’ll get Lip off his back. Even if he doesn’t really need therapy.</p><p> </p><p>Waking up the next morning, Ian eyes the post-it warily. He’s not sold on group therapy and as the time of the  meeting gets closer, he’s more tempted to call it off and deal with Lip some other time. But he won’t, he’s not scared of therapy, that’s not it. And in a way he wants to prove it to himself, that he’s not scared, and so he heads downstairs with a firm resolution to actually go, at least once. </p><p>He wastes the morning away playing videogames with Carl on the couch, and then takes Franny to the  while Debbie’s at work. He loves Franny with all his heart, he’s been close to her since she was born. A fellow member of the Ginger Club, and a quiet, loving child, he sees himself in her. </p><p>Debbie’s determined to give Franny the stable childhood they never got. She’s doing pretty well, Ian thinks. Franny has aunts and uncles who love her and readily available babysitting. Debbie’s never abandoned her to go on a drug run. She has clothes that fit her and a roof over her head. She’s certainly better off than Ian was at her age, that he’s sure of.</p><p>“Higher!” she shrieks, having the time of her life on the swings. “Eeeeee-an!”</p><p>Laughing with her, Ian reaches up to push her as high as he can. He’s always enjoyed hanging out with Franny. Born soon after his diagnosis, he feels sometimes like she is the only member of his family who still treats him like he’s normal. That’s not fair, really, his siblings try not to smother him and he’s definitely grateful for their support. There’s just something about Franny, her blind trust and innocence. She doesn’t know him as the crazy uncle, and she hopefully never will. On days he still can’t get out of bed, she curls up next to him and reads stories from her picture books. It’s an easy, uncomplicated form of love.</p><p> </p><p>He’s sitting at the table that evening, when Carl rushes down the stairs, a tiny, old  clutched to his chest.</p><p>“Hey man! This is Whiskers, I found him in the carpark at work. I’m taking him to the vet. He said he’d treat him for free if I got him some- well, maybe it’s not entirely legal, but that’s not the point-”</p><p>“Carl!” Ian cuts him off. “Don’t wanna know. Don’t feel like being an accessory to whatever this-” he gestures to the  and the suspicious package Carl’s half-hiding behind his back- “is.”</p><p>Carl grins and kisses the ’s head. “No problem. Anyway, whatcha doing here? Lip told me you had a thing tonight.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Ian pulls a hand through his hair. “Lip talk to everyone about this? Did he tell you to make sure I go?”</p><p>“Yeah,” says Carl unashamedly. “You gonna?”</p><p>“Yes, Jesus. I’m going in a minute, alright?” Ian gets up to grab his . “Feel free to report back to Lip.”</p><p>Ignoring him, Carl leaves through the back door, still carrying the old . “Have a good time!” he shouts back before the door slams behind him.</p><p>Ian smiles despite himself, and grabs the post-it out of his back pocket to triple- the address. It’s an old  he’s pretty sure the alcoholics and nutjobs of the South Side have taken over control of from the actual Christians. It’s also the  Lip goes to for AA.</p><p>Ian walks down the  with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Winter is fast approaching and the evening air bites at his exposed face and neck. Should he have brought a blanket? He thinks it would make him look kind of stupid, bringing a blanket with him to therapy, but churches aren’t exactly known for their central heating. </p><p>As he approaches the , he realises he really doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. Lip probably could have explained the whole ‘group therapy’ thing further, but Ian really wasn’t in the mood to listen. Is it just gonna be a bunch of women whining about their deadbeat husbands? He supposes not, if Brad goes, but that raises other questions. </p><p>Why is Lip trying to get him into the same support group as Brad? They don’t really have anything in common, and Brad’s an alcoholic. Ian doesn’t  much on his meds, but he’s never had any real problems with alcohol. Lip said it would be relaxed, at least, so that’s something. </p><p>Brad’s waiting for him at the  door. He’s pretending to smoke casually, but Ian would bet money that Lip told him to wait for him. “Ian, hey, good to see you.”</p><p>Nodding, Ian balls up his trembling hands. It’s cold, that’s why they’re shaking, he’s got no reason to be scared of one therapy session. “Hey,” he says but it’s a little awkward. He’s never spoken to Brad without Lip being there before.</p><p>“Come on in,” Brad puts a hand on Ian’s shoulder and leads him inside the building. There’s a group of chairs- too low down, the type you get in a - arranged in a loose circle. Four people are sitting down and Ian quickly scans their faces. None of them look scary or judgemental, but there’s only so much you can tell by looking. Brad takes him over and introduces him.</p><p>“Hey guys, this is Ian.” They all  and a couple of people wave. Waving back, he pulls out a chair next to a Black woman with long braids and a kind smile. </p><p>“Hi, I’m Sarah,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m Lip’s friend, I don’t think we’ve met.”</p><p>Not really sure how to reply, Ian smiles and nods as hard as he can. He wants to fit in with these people who all seem to know his brother. Lip should be here, not him and he wonders why Lip pushed so hard to get him to go. This isn’t his scene.</p><p>“So, Ian,” says a woman with dyed pink hair. Ian assumes she’s in charge because she’s holding a clipboard. She’s wearing too much eyeliner and a short black . “I’m Ada. We meet here twice a week, but it’s fine if you just wanna come a few times and see how things go. There’s eight of us total, including you and another guy who’s starting today, ‘cause we’re trying to keep this group from being too overwhelming. So you’re not even the only newbie. Nothing to worry about! Do you have any questions?” Ada has a cheerful, welcoming voice and Ian relaxes his shoulders slightly.</p><p>“Erm… just, what exactly is this? Like, what are we supposed to talk about?” It’s a dumb question, he thinks, but he’s still unsure why he’s here in the first place. Half these people seem to be Lip’s friends from AA and he doesn’t really fit in.</p><p>“Well, just what we’re struggling with week to week, really. For instance some of us are alcoholics, some are diagnosed with mental  conditions, some of us just need other people to talk to. This is a safe space, Ian.” Ada smiles genuinely and Ian feels a little less stupid for asking.</p><p>Their group is made up of six people sitting on the chairs that are too small for full-grown adults. There’s one empty chair, though, so Ian supposes the other new guy must be late. Ada clears her throat and lifts up her clipboard. “Right guys! Let’s take attendance.”</p><p>Groaning, Brad shoves his phone in his pocket. “Ada, there are quite literally five of us. Do we have to do this every week?”</p><p>“Shhh! There are seven of us now, anyway,” she shuts Brad up quickly and calls out her list. “And… Milkovich isn’t here yet. Would we have known that if I hadn’t taken attendance, Bradley?”</p><p>“Well yes-” Brad argues but Ian’s not listening anymore. He’s thinking about the name,  Milkovich. </p><p>Mandy Milkovich was his highschool best friend; he still talks to her over the phone. She’s beautiful and amazing and brave and Ian’s so, so proud of her for finding a life for herself outside the South Side. Living in , she works at a job she loves and has a new boyfriend she gushes to Ian about on the phone. She shares an  with a friend she knows from her brief time as an escort. On Friday nights she goes out with her boyfriend or gets drunk with her new girlfriends, who always make sure she gets home safely. Ian knows she’s never gonna come back, and he’s happy for her. </p><p>Mandy has a brother, Ian remembers him well. Mickey Milkovich. The thug with the dirty face, who stole from the Kash and Grab and used to barge in on his and Mandy’s study sessions. It’s been years since he last saw him, probably because Ian always tries to avoid the Milkovich ’s . It makes him think about Mandy, and the horrifying things she had to endure there. So he hasn’t run into any of the Milkovich brothers in years, and Ian can admit now to maybe having had a tiny crush on Mickey. He was always rude and brash, almost definitely homophobic and had a tendency for violence, but Ian always wondered how much of that was Mickey and how much was his father. He’d heard tales from Mandy about Terry’s reign of terror and how Mickey was his favourite punching bag. </p><p>Mickey and Mandy were the victims of a little too much attention from Terry, as opposed to the usual neglect. After helping Mandy pay for her abortion and seeing Mickey walk to his room with one too many black eyes, it was easy to put two and two together. Mandy would change the subject every time Ian tried to bring up Terry, so he figured the least he could do was offer her his bed whenever her father would be too far gone to distinguish between her and her mother. Ian had a feeling that was more often than Mandy let on, and he wondered if she felt guilty leaving Mickey alone to face Terry’s wrath.  Mickey would have been welcome too, if Ian didn’t know suggesting that would result in the beatdown of the century.</p><p>It seems extremely unlikely, though, that Mickey Milkovich is coming to group therapy. Mandy has other brothers, and there are definitely more cousins out there than anyone could count. So Ian is shocked, jolts slightly in his chair when a short man with black hair, wearing a green  and an angry scowl, storms into the . As the door slams shut, he walks over to the group of chairs where he stops suddenly. He looks as if he hasn’t thought this far ahead and some of the anger on his face slides away, replaced by uncertainty.</p><p>“Mickey! Hi, nice to meet you! Grab a seat, we were just starting,” Ada beams at him. Mickey pulls out the spare chair across the circle from Ian and nods vaguely at the group, not replying to Ada. </p><p>Ian’s a little bit in shock. This is Mickey Milkovich, the big, bad thug from Ian’s childhood memories? The boy he maybe dreamt about one too many times, but still managed to keep a healthy distance from. No, this is a different man entirely.</p><p>Mickey holds himself smaller, somehow, the bravado and blind confidence of his youth gone almost entirely. He’s shrunk back in his chair, head held low and eyes darting around the room. The bruises on his neck are gone, his face is clean and his knuckles are buried in his lap. Ian recalls Mickey’s ‘Fuck U-up’ tattoos perfectly, but Mickey is clearly trying to keep them hidden.</p><p>He’s staring, he realises too late as Mickey glares at him pointedly. Ian quickly shifts to face Ada. Does Mickey recognise him? He supposes he’s always stuck out, the freckly, ginger gay kid, but he’s grown up a lot since Mickey last saw him. There’s a chance Mickey doesn’t recognise him. Fuck, there’s a chance Mickey doesn’t even remember him. For all the time a teenage Ian spent thinking about Mickey Milkovich, they really barely knew each other.</p><p>What are they doing in the same group therapy after all these years, anyway? If Gallaghers didn’t do therapy, the Milkoviches certainly didn’t. He imagines anyone growing up with Terry Milkovich for a father would have a pretty messed up psyche, but getting blackout drunk was always Mandy’s preferred way of dealing with shit. Mickey must be different, though, if he’s made the effort to come to a support group. Ian almost respects him for it, even if all Mickey’s done so far is sit hunched over and avoid eye contact with everyone.</p><p>“Ian!” Ada’s calling his name and snapping her fingers. “You still there?”</p><p>Ian shakes his head and looks up. The group’s staring at him expectantly and he starts to panic. What’s he supposed to say now? He didn’t hear what Ada was talking about. Is he gonna embarrass himself in front of everyone? Should he just ask Ada to repeat herself or does that make him look rude? If he has to talk about his feelings is that going to make him look like a pussy in front of Mickey?</p><p>Sarah puts a hand on his knee. He hadn’t realised how violently he was shaking it, and he tries to take a deep . </p><p>“Ian, we were just gonna go around the circle and introduce ourselves to you and Mickey. That sound good?” Ada looks slightly concerned but she’s still smiling at him.</p><p>Ian nods, “Y-yeah. That’s good.” He tries to match her  and feels rewarded when she grins and clasps her hand together.</p><p>Brad starts off, “Hey, guys, I’m Brad. I mean Ian already knows me but hi, Mickey, good to meet you.”</p><p>Mickey nods, eyes still fixed on the ground.</p><p>“I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for almost three years. I have a wife, Cami. We have a boy and another kid on the way. I’m a . I bring the cakes.” Brad gestures to a table behind him where, sure enough, there’s a box of doughnuts. “That’s pretty much it.”</p><p>Not allowing his mind to wander again, Ian pays rapt attention to everyone in the circle. It’s relieving- there’s a boy with curly brown hair called Matt who struggles with depression and can’t be older than twenty. He’s wearing a rolled up blue button up  and black bracelets on his left arm. He’s the one Ian immediately feels slightly connected to; he seems shy but smiles welcomingly at Ian. </p><p>He also finds himself laughing along with Sarah when her time to talk comes. Sweet and funny, he sees easily how she gets along with Lip. She’s still got a hand on his knee, which he might normally find invasive, but her warm touch keeps him grounded in a way he didn’t expect.</p><p>There’s one other, a girl called Ayumi with tattoos up one arm and choppy bangs. She has some kind of eating disorder.   </p><p>It  definitely seems to be too wide a range of issues for one woman- Ian can’t see how Ada is going to be able to help them all. He raises his hand awkwardly, not sure if he’s allowed to just start talking. Giggling slightly, Ada gestures for him to speak.</p><p>“Just… don’t you all have pretty different problems? Shouldn’t we be in different groups, or something?” Ian asks. This one is definitely a stupid question. </p><p>Ada just smiles, though. “No, ideally you’re totally right, Ian. To be honest, if you’re looking for free therapy without insurance on the South Side, there aren’t really a lot of options. And this isn’t even strictly speaking therapy, we just call ourselves that. It’s just… a support group. We all listen to each other and talk, but no, I’m not particularly trained in specifics. So it’s important to be open with each other so we can share all of our knowledge!”</p><p>Brad rolls his eyes at that. Ada ignores him and continues, “ If you want to talk to me about seeing someone privately, though, you should. I’m sure we could work something out.”</p><p>Ian nods, “Thanks.” He’s not sure what he was thinking. He didn’t start seeing his old therapist until he’d started working as an EMT and finally gotten insurance. It certainly wouldn’t have happened if he was still a janitor. No, he won’t tell Lip, but a group of people who either can’t afford therapy or don’t want it sounds like a place he might be able to fit in. And there's the added mystery of Mickey Milkovich.</p><p>“Right! Ian, Mickey, you want to tell us a bit about yourselves?” Ada asks, pushing her bright pink hair back from her face.</p><p>Mickey doesn’t answer, so Ian clears his throat. “Erm… sure. I’m Ian, I’m twenty three and I’m an EMT. And I’m bipolar. And, yeah…” he trails off. His cheeks have gone bright red. Mickey’s definitely looking up at him now. But really, that wasn’t too bad. He doesn’t exactly love disclosing his disorder to strangers, but knowing some of the fucked-up issues that they have makes him feel like they’re a little less likely to  him.</p><p>The others all mumble in reply, and Sarah pats her hand against his knee. Ok, that’s good. They don’t think he’s too weird. </p><p>“Great, Ian. Mickey?” Ada prompts Mickey, who looks like he wants to sink into the floor. “Hey,” he says after a long pause. “I’m twenty five. I… I work security, I guess.”</p><p>Mickey’s eyes are flitting around the circle, landing on Ian’s face before darting away. He’s silent again and Ada gives him a minute to keep talking. Realising she’s not going to get anything else out of him, she sits up in her chair.</p><p>“Ok guys! Ian, Mickey, you can join in whenever you’re comfortable. So, Matt, do you want to start us off?”</p><p> </p><p>The two hours go far quicker than Ian expected. Ada’s bubbly, gentle and makes sure everyone gets their turn to speak. Brad talks about his new baby. How he’s worried he’ll relapse with the pressure of another child. How he’s terrified it will be like the first baby all over again, him leaving Cami to tackle motherhood alone. But mostly about how he’s depending on AA to get him through it, on Lip, Cami, this group, his entire support system.</p><p>Matt talks about his mother being sick, and how he’s afraid it will trigger his own depression. That hits a little too close to home for Ian. He misses his mom every day and it’s been three years. His relationship with Monica had been complicated, but he never once doubted that he loved her. She was his mom. His queer, bipolar mom, and that helped her understand him in a way he didn’t think anyone else would ever be able to. </p><p>The way his brothers and sisters moved on so quickly from Monica’s death confused him slightly. Or maybe it made perfect sense. Fiona had already moved on in every other way and Lip was always one to drown his sorrows in a bottle. Maybe he spoke to the guys from AA about Monica, rather than Ian. That doesn’t hurt as much as he would have expected. Debbie and Carl were resilient, and Liam never really had the time to grow to love his mother. Ian was left alone in his mourning, lost and confused. He’s not really sure what would have happened if he wasn’t still seeing his therapist at that point. She helped him through a brief period of mania and tried to teach him how to handle his grief healthily, but he still thinks about her. He knows it won’t be possible for him to move on from Monica, but he hopes one day he can think about her and . Just .</p><p>While he listens to everyone talking, comforting and teasing each other, he keeps an ear open for Mickey. Hunched over in his chair and fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve, Mickey doesn’t exactly look comfortable. Ian’s not surprised, seeing a Milkovich at group therapy is akin to seeing Frank at Alcoholics Anonymous. Ian tries to join in with the conversation when he can, although admittedly he doesn’t offer much up about himself.</p><p>Mickey stays silent throughout. He nods along to something Ayumi says, though, and that’s something. When Ada asks if he wants to talk, he shakes his head dismissively and grunts something unintelligible. It’s a sound from Ian’s childhood he hadn’t even realised he’d missed. A grumpy Mickey grunting at him. It’s just nostalgia, he reminds himself, nearly everything he’d liked about Mickey he’d invented in his own head. Still. It’s good to see him again. He looks healthy.</p><p>At the end of the session, Ian walks over to Ada to thank her. She didn’t push him to talk too much about himself and she laughed at a couple of his dumb jokes like they weren’t dumb. That’s a lot more than he was expecting from tonight, so he tells her he’ll come back next week. He probably won’t tell Lip, but these are good people and he thinks maybe they can help him.</p><p> </p><p>When he leaves the , he sees a silhouette lighting a cigarette under a broken lamp post. The rest of the  is deserted, the sun set and the city asleep. The figure turns around and Ian catches his eyes. Mickey Milkovich.</p><p>Should he go over and say hello? No, that would be too weird, Mickey hasn’t seen him in years. He might not even remember him. Ian doesn’t want to just ignore Mickey, though. He looks lonely there, under the lamp post. Beautiful, too. </p><p>He’s wearing an old, worn green  and a black  that’s far too big on him, coming down past his knees. The pale moonlight reflects off the traces of gel in his hair and illuminates his face with an almost ethereal glow. Ian’s been trying to kick his nicotine habit, but the smoke framing Mickey’s face makes him inhale deeply, hoping to catch the smoke on the breeze. </p><p>He suddenly realises him and Mickey are locked in some serious eye contact, and have been for far too long for him to appear natural. He raises his hand in an awkward half-wave. Mickey just frowns, his default expression apparently. </p><p>Ian sighs and starts walking forward. He’s going to go for it. </p><p>“Hey! Mickey, it's good to see you again.”</p><p>Mickey doesn’t reply, taking a long drag. Ian stands there wishing he had something to do with his hands. Have his arms always been this long? They dangle loosely at his sides.</p><p>“Hey, Gallagher,” Mickey says finally. </p><p>That’s relieving. Mickey remembers him, at least.</p><p>“How- how’ve you been?” Ian asks lamely.</p><p>Mickey raises his eyebrows. “Me? Fucking great, man.”</p><p>Ian can’t tell whether or not he’s being sarcastic, and he wracks his brain desperately for a way to continue the conversation. He wants to know if Mickey’s the same kid he crushed on as a teenager, or if he’s changed- and if he’s changed, how he’s changed. If he’s somehow become a reformed citizen or if he’s still living at the Milkovich  with his dad, stealing from corner shops and beating people up in the .  There’s no way he can ask this casually, so he stands with his mouth gaping open and closed, feeling like some sort of pathetic .</p><p>Mickey smiles widely and chuckles under his . It takes a moment for Ian’s brain to register this- it’s probably the only time he’s ever seen Mickey properly .</p><p>“Chill, Gallagher. I can hear your brain buzzing. It’s good to see you too, man.”</p><p>Ian feels like Mickey just threw him the biggest bone ever. </p><p>“Do you wanna go get something to eat?” Ian says out of nowhere, surprising himself. There’s no way he will agree to that. Ian doesn’t even know why he suggested it, he hasn’t seen or even thought much about Mickey in years. Now he’s practically asking the guy out. “There’s this diner near my , we could catch up? The food’s not great, but it’s open 24 hours and it’s pretty cheap…” Ian trails off, wishing he knew when to shut up.</p><p>Mickey shrugs. “Alright. Don’t got anything better to do.” </p><p>Trying to get it together, Ian shakes himself lightly. “Cool.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Patsy's Pies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for disordered eating, discussion of eating disorders</p><p>Be safe!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They walk without talking, Mickey letting Ian lead him. He can’t seem to stop looking across at him- and then flicking his eyes away, because damn. Ian looks incredible. Twice the height of his fifteen-year old self and broader, too. His shoulders fill out his coat and he holds himself taller, like he’s more confident in himself. Mickey’s not sure exactly how true that is, based on the way Ian couldn’t stop stumbling over his words and now seems to have decided to just stop speaking, but still. It’s a good look on him.</p><p>His jaw is more angular now, and the freckles that used to litter his face have faded. Mickey remembers clearly the puppy-like innocence of a teenage Ian Gallagher, and he can’t help but feel like this is an upgrade. This Ian is hot, and Mickey doesn’t even feel bad admitting it to himself. And ok, maybe denying his childhood crush on Ian had more to do with his father than anything else, but it’s relieving to finally be able to think that Ian’s attractive without feeling guilty. </p><p>Ian clears his throat and gestures to the diner they’ve arrived at. “This is Patsy’s. It’s kind of a shithole but they do the best cherry pie, I always come here after my late shifts.”</p><p>“Yeah, it looks kinda nice,” Mickey lies.</p><p>They sit in a booth opposite each other, and it’s a little too familiar after all these years. Mickey has no idea if Ian even likes him. He has no reason to, Mickey  was undeniably an asshole when they were younger, but Mickey supposes Ian can’t be too upset about it or he wouldn’t have asked him to eat with him. </p><p>“So!” Ian says brightly, putting down the menu he was pretending to read. “What’ve you been up to?”</p><p>“Well…” Mickey rubs his eyebrow. He hasn’t been up to much, by most people’s standards but at least he’s not in prison. It wasn’t like anyone ever had any huge expectations of him career-wise but Mickey heard Ian say he was an EMT earlier. That’s definitely a hell of a lot more impressive than working security at Old Army. “I don’t live at home anymore,” he settles on saying.</p><p>Ian frowns, “You mean your dad’s house? Mandy never said you moved out.”</p><p>“Wait, you still talk to Mandy?”</p><p>“Yeah, I mean as much as we can. She’s always busy now. No time for us, huh?” Ian’s smiling like they’re sharing an inside joke, but Mickey’s insides are churning. The truth is, he hasn’t spoken to Mandy for more than five minutes since she moved away. He’s pretty sure she’s just trying to avoid reminders of Terry, but it still hurts a little. She was the only person he ever felt close to when he was younger, and now she’s gone.</p><p>“Y-yeah, I guess not. But I got a place with my cousin. Dad’s back in the joint again, and the others are always off doing fuck knows what, so that only really leaves the two of us. She said something about the only gay Milkoviches needing to stick together. It’s nothing special, but it’s good to have our own space, y’know?” </p><p>Fuck. Mickey didn’t mean to tell Ian he was gay so quickly. It’s not like he’s ashamed, and he’s definitely not scared anymore, but he doesn’t normally blurt it out to people he hasn’t even seen in years. At least Ian won’t care. From what Mickey remembers, he’s as gay as they come.</p><p>Ian’s grinning and it lights up his whole face. Mickey wonders vaguely if they’re kind of on a date right now, if that’s what this is. Probably not, Ian was probably just curious about him because he’s Mandy’s brother. It does feel a little bit like a date, though. Not that he’s ever been on a proper date, but it’s late, there’s a shitty unlit candle and Ian keeps smiling at him from across the table. Mickey’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. That’s because it’s not a date, he reminds himself.</p><p>“Yeah, I wish I had my own place sometimes. I mean I’m twenty three, it feels kind of old to still be living with all my siblings. Can’t really move out though. Gotta watch out for Liam. You remember Liam?”</p><p>Mickey shakes his head. He doesn’t remember any of the other Gallaghers, really, just knows that there were a fuckton of them. Oh, and there’s Lip. Lip used to overcharge him for essays when they were in the 10th grade. And he dated that bitch Karen Jackson, who slept with everyone but suddenly acted like she had standards when it came to Mickey. Mickey and Lip weren’t exactly friends. </p><p>“He’s my little brother, he’s only eleven. Smart as fuck, though. Anyway, it’s cool living with my family. I probably couldn’t even afford to move out. But, come on, how are you doing? Tell me more, I haven’t seen you in so long!”</p><p>Ian’s talking like they’re close friends who drifted after high school, ignoring the fact that Mickey once spent several days trying to beat Ian up for something he didn’t do. It’s cute, Mickey would think, if he were the sort of guy who used words like ‘cute’. </p><p>“Well, I’m doing fine. Got a job at Old Army a few years back. Pays shit and I can’t say I like it, but hey. It’s legal.”</p><p>“That’s cool, but I’m sure you’ll find something you actually like soon. I was a janitor before I became an EMT, so hey. It’s not so impossible.”</p><p>Mickey nods noncommittally. He’s pretty certain it’s not going to get much better than mall security for him. They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.</p><p>“You- um, you seeing anyone?” Ian blurts out suddenly, his cheeks going bright red and clashing horribly with his hair.</p><p>Wow. That was unexpected. Mickey knows Ian’s gay, of course he is, but is Ian seriously blushing right now? Is Ian attracted to him? Ian who looks like that? </p><p>“No, I’m- I’m single.”</p><p>“Cool,” Ian says, hiding his face behind the menu again. “That’s cool.” </p><p>A girl comes over to take their order, and Ian asks for a slice of cherry pie. Mickey shifts in his chair. He knows he could get something to eat and Ian won’t judge him, Ian asked him out to eat in the first place. It’s just a bad day for him. He had a big lunch and dinner, and he’s looking over at Ian who looks like he just stepped off the cover of Vogue. He feels bad about ordering a huge dessert, but he also thinks it’ll look awkward if he doesn’t. Ian asked him to get something to eat with him and if Mickey just sits watching him eat on his own that would definitely be weird.</p><p>He wipes the sheen of sweat off his forehead and clears his throat. “Can I get a black coffee?” he says to the waitress. It’s far too late for caffeine but he needs something to do while Ian eats.</p><p>“You sure?” asks Ian, “This pie is legendary, right Jackie?” </p><p>The waitress- Jackie- shakes her head. “Edible at best.”</p><p>She walks off and they’re left alone again. Ian’s smiling but he looks like he wants to ask something. His eyes keep shifting to and from Mickey’s face and he’s drawing circles in some spilled salt on the edge of the table.</p><p>“What, man?” Mickey asks because it doesn’t seem like Ian’s going to.</p><p>“Huh?” Ian looks up suddenly from the salt. “Oh. I was just thinking about the group earlier. Weird we both joined the same day, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.”</p><p>“Sorry, we don’t have to talk about it. Therapy’s personal, I get it.”</p><p>“No,” says Mickey, surprising himself. “It’s fine. We can talk about it if you want.” He finds he doesn’t really hate the idea of talking about some of his problems with Ian. He almost wants to. It’s not like he can go to Sandy- she might be his best friend but she’s still a Milkovich. Ian seems like a safe confidant.</p><p>“Ok, it’d be nice to talk about some of that stuff with you,” Ian says, echoing Mickey’s own thoughts.</p><p>“So… you wanna tell me why you’re going?” asks Mickey. He’s genuinely curious, Ian seems perfectly well-adjusted. He remembers him telling the group he was bipolar, but Ian didn’t go into much detail and Mickey doesn’t know a lot about stuff like that.</p><p>“My brother kind of made me go to be honest. He thinks I need a ‘community’ or something. I’ve been in therapy since I was diagnosed. Bipolar,” he adds, “My therapist moved away and Lip doesn’t think I can function without having people evaluate my mental state every week.” He sounds bitter, but only a little bit.</p><p>Mickey wonders what an appropriate response to that would be. He wants to ask more about bipolar disorder, since he really hardly knows anything, but he thinks he should probably tell Ian something about himself in exchange for Ian trying to be open with him.</p><p>“I’m going for the same reason, really. My bitch of a cousin made me go after I woke her up with one too many nightmares.” He’s not really annoyed at Sandy. Kind of grateful, actually. It was probably about time he saw someone about everything, but there was no way he’d ever admit it to himself without Sandy physically dragging him up to the church this evening. He’d only been late because he freaked out last minute and tried to fight her when she pulled him into her truck.</p><p>He doesn’t want to tell Ian his whole story right away, but Ian looks interested at the sound of his cousin.</p><p>“The Milkoviches are bullying each other into therapy now? That’s good to hear,” he chuckles. “Maybe your cousin should talk to Mandy, she still insists bartenders are the best shrinks.”</p><p>“Yeah, Sandy took half a psych course before she dropped out and now she thinks she knows everything there is to know about the human brain. You should talk to her, she knows everything wrong with me better than I do.”</p><p>“Mandy-Sandy,” Ian mumbles under his breath. “So you get a lot of nightmares?”</p><p>Mickey feels instantly defensive, even though he just told Ian that himself. Nightmares are for little kids and pussies, not grown men. “No, I don’t fucking-”</p><p>“Hey, I’m not trying to be rude. I just want to know more about you.”</p><p>Mickey tells his body to slow down. “Ok. Sorry. I guess I get ‘em quite a lot. Sandy normally wakes me up since we moved in together. She keeps saying I’m ‘slipping into unhealthy coping habits’, whatever the fuck that means.” He rolls his eyes. Sandy’s great, but she has no clue when to mind her fucking business. Maybe boundaries are a bit of a Milkovich problem in general, come to think of it. </p><p>Interrupting what was, for Mickey, practically a heart-to-heart, the waitress comes back over with Ian’s pie and Mickey’s coffee. She sets them down on a table and Mickey watches Ian lean in to sniff theatrically at the pie. Fucking dork. </p><p>“At least try a bit,” says Ian, gesturing to the pie like it’s his newborn child.  “You came all this way!” He’s actually only about a ten minute walk from his new apartment, as Sandy wanted to stay close to home. She didn’t say it, but Mickey suspects she might still be doing jobs with his brothers. Honestly, it’s fine with him as long as he gets to stay out of it. He’s left that life behind for good. </p><p>“Nah, man,” Mickey tries to protest as Ian stabs the pie with his fork and waves a piece enticingly in front of Mickey’s face. He hesitates. It does look good, and one bite of pie isn’t going to affect anything, is it? Grabbing the fork from Ian, he swallows it quickly before he has any more time to think about it. </p><p>Wow. He’s not about to start waxing poetic about a fucking piece of pie but if he were, it would be that one. </p><p>“Good right?” Ian asks, grinning. And holy shit, did Ian just wink at him? And somehow make it look cool? Jesus. </p><p>“Not bad, Gallagher,” Mickey laughs at Ian’s attempt to cram the pastry into his mouth, “but it ain’t going anywhere.”</p><p>Ian nods vigorously, putting down his fork. “You’re right, this is food that deserves to be savoured.”</p><p>They sit together, Ian now eating his pie comically slowly and Mickey taking slow sips of coffee. It’s not too bad, but it’s pretty difficult to mess up black coffee so he’s not gonna give Patsy’s any points for that one. </p><p>“So,” Ian says as he finally pushes his plate away. “What were you saying earlier? About unhealthy coping habits?”</p><p>“Fucking hell, man,” Mickey grumbles, “you ain’t subtle, you know that?”</p><p>“Sorry,” Ian hurries to say. “We can talk about something else, I’m just curious.”</p><p>“Well, like I said, Sandy likes to make shit up. Thinks just because I had a couple of nightmares I got PTSD or something. Says I got an eating disorder just ‘cause I skip a few meals sometimes.”</p><p>This conversation is getting way too personal way too quickly and Mickey tries to think of a way to deflect back to Ian. “Probably thought I was an alcoholic, too, because she made me cut down on the booze when we moved in. Fucking hypocrite. She drinks at least twice as much as me.”</p><p>Ian frowns slightly, putting his finger back in the spilled salt and drawing circles. “You think you might?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Have PTSD? Or an eating disorder?”</p><p>“Fuck no,” Mickey scoffs, “Don’t have any of that pussy shit.” </p><p>Growing up the way he did, anyone would get nightmares. Doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with him. And when it comes to eating disorders, well, Sandy likes to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong. Maybe she realised that sometimes he skipped a few meals, but that doesn’t mean he’s starving himself or anything like some chick from a bad movie. He can eat fine, but it feels good to have something he can control when he’s feeling bad about himself. Wanting to be thinner is practically universally agreed upon, Sandy just doesn’t get it. She’s never had to worry about her body.</p><p>Ian bows his head at Mickey’s choice of  words and scratches at the back of his neck. Mickey feels guilty instantly but he doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t know shit about bipolar.</p><p>“Hey, sorry,” he says, deciding to go with honesty. “I don’t mean it like that. What- what’s bipolar like? I mean, I don’t know much about it.”</p><p>Ian looks up, and at least they’re making eye contact again. “It’s alright for me now, I guess. I’m pretty in control of it at the moment. When I was younger everything was way more intense.”</p><p>He pauses, stealing Mickey’s coffee and taking a sip.</p><p>“It was difficult with my family. I didn’t know what was wrong and I hated how everyone kept trying to tell me, like they knew me better than I did. Did some pretty fucked up shit when I was manic. Bipolar is like… it’s like you’re flying, and nothing can stop you. Until something does, something small and stupid, and then you’re crashing, harder, faster until you hit rock bottom. I’m on the right meds now, and I’m mostly fine. Still feel depressed or manic sometimes, but it’s not so… all-consuming.”</p><p>Mickey nods along, listening intently. It doesn’t make much sense, how he cares so much for Ian’s story considering they haven’t seen each other in years, but he does. He wants to listen to Ian, and he wants Ian to listen to him, and maybe if they never even speak to each other outside of the bubble of Patsy’s Pies again, it will still have been worth it. Because for a conversation, an evening, a night, they each got to feel like their problems mattered, and that somebody else cared to hear them for no other reason than to understand each other.</p><p>Jesus he’s getting fucking soft.</p><p>“Why’re you going to the group, then? If you’re ok now,” asks Mickey. Ian doesn’t strike him as the type to want to spend hours talking to strangers about his disorder. Although, Mickey definitely isn’t that sort of guy either. Without Sandy pushing him into it, he’s almost positive he’d still be coping the way he does best. Vodka and denial. </p><p>“Like I said, Lip wanted me to go, but I guess he might have a point. I don’t love the idea of group therapy but it does help to talk about it, especially when I feel out of control. I don’t really like telling my family when I can tell I’m slipping. They’re great and understanding and everything, but I’m always scared they’ll think I’m incapable or something? I just need to be strong in front of them, so I think it’ll help if there are people I can be- less stronger with. And anyway, the group seem nice, right?”</p><p>Mickey shrugs. He liked Ayumi. Doesn’t really remember the rest of them. The girl with the pink hair was quite annoying, he thinks. Too ridiculously cheerful for him.</p><p>“They’re alright.”</p><p>“You gonna go back?”</p><p>Mickey doesn’t want to think ahead of himself, but Ian sounds hopeful when he asks.</p><p>“Are you?” he asks Ian. </p><p>“If you do,” says Ian, holding out his hand and placing it on the table. “We’ll both go.”</p><p>Mickey smiles despite himself. Ian’s fucking ridiculous. He’s cute though, eyes wide open and earnest, waiting for Mickey to take his hand.</p><p>Sighing in defeat, Mikey relents and puts his hand in Ian’s. Ian’s thumb rubs gently over his forefinger in what might be the most tender gesture he’s ever experienced in his life. </p><p>This is turning into one of the best evenings Mickey’s had in a long time, and he hopes he’ll get to see Ian again. They both know that each other are gay, so maybe it’s not so entirely unrealistic  to think that Ian feels that same spark of attraction too. Ian didn’t mention having a boyfriend or anything, and the eyes he’s been making at Mickey all evening certainly don’t feel innocent. He doesn’t have a fucking clue how to ask someone out on a date, though, and even if he did he’s pretty sure Ian is way out of his league, but he can’t help but hope it happens one day. That Ian might ask him out, or if that’s just a pipedream, that they’ll at least get to hang out as friends again.</p><p>Mickey’s long since finished his coffee, and the waitress is staring at them pointedly. He can’t imagine why, it’s late and they’re not exactly busy, but he looks at Ian and nods his head towards her. </p><p>“Yeah, we should probably get going,” Ian says, pulling on his coat.</p><p>Mickey wraps his scarf around his neck and they leave together, Ian tipping ridiculously because Mickey just doesn’t understand the concept of tipping in the first place. Giving away money so people don’t think you’re rude? Everyone’s been thinking Mickey’s rude since he was a teenager. It never bothered him. </p><p>On the street, they stand beside each other awkwardly for a few moments. Mickey can’t remember exactly where Ian lives so he’s not sure if they’ll be walking back together. </p><p>“Right, so…” Ian starts, “I should head home. Thanks for coming out with me, I had a great time.”</p><p>Mickey smiles, biting his bottom lip. “Me too, let’s do it again sometime.”</p><p>Ian’s eyes light up. “Really? Yes! Let’s do that!”</p><p>Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Ian looks so excited, and Mickey can hardly believe that he caused that. If Ian were a dog, his tail would be wagging wildly.</p><p>“Patsy’s live up to its reputation?” Ian asked, trying to maintain some semblance of cool. </p><p>“Of a shithole? Sure thing.”</p><p>Ian grins. “I’ll make you come back and get the cherry pie. Then you’ll see.”</p><p> </p><p>They part ways at the end of the street, Ian heading back to his house crammed with siblings and Mickey to the quiet apartment he shares with Sandy. He’s willing to bet Sandy stayed up just to interrogate him about therapy and he groans inwardly. No, therapy wasn’t as awful as he had expected, but that doesn’t mean he feels like the third-degree from his cousin. </p><p>Checking his phone, Mickey sees he already has seven missed calls from her. He takes his phone off silent. Should he call her back? It’s pretty late, well past 11, and there’s a chance she’s genuinely worried about him. That’s a concept Mickey’s having to get accustomed to. Sandy actually cares about him in her aggressive, I-don’t-give-a-shit-but-actually-I-really-do kind of way. </p><p>She reminds him of Mandy sometimes, with the lengths she’ll go to for the people she loves, but never wants to admit to loving. Her girlfriend, who she’s been on and off with for a few years, finally dumped her properly a few weeks ago. They aren’t good together, even Mickey can see that, and this isn’t the first time they’ve been done ‘for good’, but he’s pretty sure they’re not coming back from this. Sandy’s miserable, but she’s hiding it and pouring her restless energy into worrying about Mickey. Won’t admit to feeling sad or weak, and honestly Mickey’s kind of grateful. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, but he has no idea how he would go about comforting his heartbroken cousin when he’s never even had a boyfriend. They’ve never been that sort of family anyway, the type who cry on each other’s shoulders after a bad break-up. That was more the Gallagher’s style, from what he remembers.</p><p>He decides to call her.</p><p>“Hey, shithead!” she shouts down the phone, “Where the fuck are you?”</p><p>“Chill out, would you? I’m on my way.”</p><p>“Mickey I swear I will cut you. Don’t fucking do this again, you hear me?”</p><p>Mickey feels a bit guilty at that. He didn’t think to let her know that he was going out after the group, but then again, she’s not his mother. He doesn’t have to tell her every little thing he does or who he’s with. Sandy’s gonna be thrilled when he tells her he went out with Ian, though. Back when they were kids, Sandy was the only one who realised he had a thing for the red-headed Gallagher. When she’d stay the night, two teenagers sharing a single bed and one dangerous secret, she saw the way his face lit up when he talked about Ian. And that shouldn’t be taken fucking lightly, Mickey Milkovich’s face doesn’t light up for just anybody. They lay in that bed together teasing each other about boys and girls, and those are probably the best childhood memories Mickey has. Not like there’s a lot of competition, but he owes Sandy a lot.</p><p>“Sorry. Just went out with a guy after group.”</p><p>“A guy?” Sandy drawls teasingly. “You didn’t mention you were on a date.”</p><p>“Not a date, fuck off. You can annoy me later. I’m nearly there.”</p><p>She hangs up without bothering to say goodbye and Mickey starts climbing the stairs in his apartment building. It’s a nice place they’ve got, nothing fancy but two bedrooms and a pretty good kitchen. And there’s a TV with a huge screen that Mickey is absolutely positive Sandy didn’t acquire legally. They do have to share a bathroom which gets annoying, but Sandy’s never been the type of girl to spend hours in the bathroom doing her hair. </p><p>He bangs on the door, not bothering to feel around for his keys, and Sandy wrenches the door open.</p><p>“Call me next time you wanna be fucking late, alright? You’ve got a phone, use it.”</p><p>Mickey hugs her around the neck, punching her lightly in the ribs. “Fuck you, I thought you wanted me to go out more anyway? Spouting some bullshit about my ‘non-existent social life’. I got friends!”</p><p>“So,” she starts, dragging him over to their new (used) couch. “How was your date?”</p><p>“Not a fuckin’ date. Just grabbed coffee with someone from the group.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re bonding with the crazies? Good! That’s what I told you to do, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mickey sighs. Sandy shoves closer to him on the couch.</p><p>“So who is he? Hot? Gay? You like him?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, one at a time. Ian Gallagher, yes, yes, maybe. I don’t know.” Mickey blushes. He definitely likes Ian but they’ve only spent one evening together in years; it’s way too soon to be jumping into anything.</p><p>“Oh my god. Gallagher? That kid you were obsessed with? Fuck, you’ve still got a thing for him. You gonna ask him out for real?”</p><p>“No! ‘course not. We were just hanging out.”</p><p>“Ok…” Sandy says suspiciously. “So, how was the group? As bad as you thought, or was I right about that too?”</p><p>“It was fine, I guess. Just listened to everyone else’s fucking whining. Could have been worse.”  He honestly kind of liked it. Everyone was cool about him being there and he didn’t feel too much like an outsider.</p><p>“Told you! Didn’t I tell you?” Sandy punches his arm. “You’re gonna go back.”</p><p>She says it like it’s a fact and he can’t summon the energy to pretend to argue with her. He’s going to go back, because he didn’t hate it and maybe it’ll help. It’s not like he loves the nightmares and the fear of loud noises that he still can’t seem to shake, and maybe a bunch of other fucked-up Southsiders will know what to do about it. Plus he promised Ian he’d go back anyway. Not letting Ian down is probably the most compelling reason motivating Mickey. He already feels like Ian has put a lot of trust in him by talking about his disorder, and he wants to make sure he knows it wasn’t misplaced. </p><p>“Yeah. I’ll go back.”</p><p>Sandy smiles widely, looking a little too proud of herself. She leans down, grabs the remote off the floor and starts flicking through the channels on the TV. The screen is far too big for their apartment.</p><p>“Alright, gonna go to fucking sleep,” Mickey says, patting her on the shoulder. He hopes she takes it as a ‘thank you for forcing me to go to this fucking thing’ gesture.</p><p>“‘Night!” she calls, already deeply engrossed in some medical drama. There are far too many of them to keep track of, Mickey thinks. They should start making television about stuff people actually want to see, not old people oozing pus into bedpans, or whatever they do. Maybe he should ask Ian about it. Mickey’s never actually sat through a whole episode. </p><p>His phone pings as he’s getting into bed. Rolling over, he sees he has two new messages from an unknown number.</p><p>Unknown: Hey<br/>Unknown: It’s Ian, I got Mandy to give me your number.</p><p>Mickey feels a weird pang in his chest at that. When was the last time he called Mandy? Or even sent her a fucking text? Just because she moved away doesn’t mean they’re not still family. He should at the very least keep in touch with her. He was never gonna be brother of the year or anything, but Mandy deserves to know that he cares about her. Thinks about her every day, misses her, maybe even hates her a little bit for getting a whole new life and leaving him behind. It’s not just him who’s stopped texting but he’s her big brother. He should be the one trying to look out for her. Whilst he’s stewing in his guilt, his phone goes off again.</p><p>Unknown: I had a really great time tonight. Thank you for coming with me. </p><p>Mickey’s insides are warm now. This might be the sweetest message he’s ever received. He doesn’t get ‘thank you for spending time with me’ texts. He gets the occasional ‘where the fuck are you’ text from Sandy, a ‘sorry for the noise’ from the college boys down the hall, and he’s got a pretty lengthy chat going with some fuckhead who wants to offer him more credit. This is entirely different- Ian texted just to let him know that he enjoyed Mickey’s company. And Mickey knows he’s just being polite and it doesn’t mean anything- but he really kind of hopes it does. </p><p>It doesn’t take long to get attached to someone. Apparently it only takes an evening, ‘cause Mickey’s already feeling pretty fucking attached. He saves Ian’s number to his phone with a smile on his face.</p><p>Mickey: See you Saturday?</p><p>The next session is the next Saturday evening, but Mickey doesn’t know if Ian’ll be there. He’s not gonna try and pretend he knows much about being an EMT, but he knows they get late shifts and shit. </p><p>Mickey has weekends off and he’s fully aware of how lucky he is. Dealing with teenagers is bad enough on a weekday, when they’re not swarming the mall in fucking droves. </p><p>He likes having his weekends free, even if he doesn’t usually do anything other than knock back a few beers on the couch with Sandy. Typically he’ll sleep in as late as possible, waste the rest of the day hanging around the apartment, and then he’ll try and get Sandy drunk, ‘cause Sandy’s a whole lot more fun when she’s drunk. As long as she’s happy-drunk, and not thinking about her ex, she’s pretty much up for anything. And it’s not like Mickey ever wants to do anything particularly wild, but sometimes it’s fun as hell to come up with ridiculous suggestions and watch Sandy jump on them like they’re some kind of genius master-plan. Watching her pout when she realises he’s not serious is also one of his favourite weekend pastimes.</p><p>So yeah, his weekends aren’t exactly bad, but he thinks this one will be a lot more enjoyable if he gets to see Ian for a second time. His phone goes off yet again.</p><p>Ian: See you Saturday, Mickey.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you comment on my fic I love you so much. You're really out there doing the most.</p><p>I hope you liked this! I'm not sure about it, but... </p><p>Thank you for reading &lt;333</p>
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